


Sacrificial Lamb

by apersonwhowrites



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apersonwhowrites/pseuds/apersonwhowrites
Summary: Sacrificial Lamb (n): someone or something that is deliberately sacrificed to promote a cause or for the benefit of others.A three-part tale about a young woman who will stop at nothing to ensure the safety of those she loves.Or, three times Bonnie Bennett dies and ends up learning something about being alive.
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Damon Salvatore, Bonnie Bennett/Jeremy Gilbert, Elena Gilbert/Damon Salvatore
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	1. part i: the last dance

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first part of a three-chapter saga about Bonnie's sacrifices (although, I feel her character deserved much more). I actually stopped watching the show because I couldn't deal with how they were treating my favorite character. That being said, I tried to stick as close to the show because I really wanted to turn the first chapter of this work into something - and I didn't like my original idea and didn't think I could make a full 30 chapter story out of it.  
> Thanks for reading!

* * *

**~1~**

* * *

_Death: (n)_ _the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism._

_Resurrection: (n) the revitalization or revival of something._

_Life: (n)_ _the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death._

_Will you fight for the cause  
Can you teach the savage mind, their ways are wrong  
Help them see, what they want and what they need  
And if we have to twist their arms  
They know not what they do is wrong  
And if you said I would go to heaven  
Now maybe I'll try_

_~Better Than Ezra, Heaven~_

* * *

**The Last Dance**

* * *

The first time I had resigned myself to death had been a shock. I had realized that it is the only way my best friend’s life and I knew I would give my life for hers without consciously acknowledging it. I had only truly accepted it recently, which lifted some of the weight from my shoulders.

I’m only shocked because I can’t bring myself to feel _sad_ about it. It’s surprisingly easy to feel good about my choice. Noble. And I know, deep down, that I’m doing what’s best for everyone involved. It’s weird—the gap between what I _imagined_ I would do and what I _will_ do is a large one.

What a difference a few months could make.

Before everything changed, I thought very little about the intricacies of life. I was a normal seventeen-year-old girl, interested in hanging out with my two best friends and which guys would make for a suitable boyfriend. Shopping, school, and cheerleading took up the entirety of my schedule and I didn’t have a care in the world.

In times like these, I feel stupid for taking those things for granted.

Especially since the harrowing situations, I find myself in are never of my own doing.

Stefan and Damon’s arrival in Mystic Falls is a memory I recall with extreme distaste. There was something about Stefan that chilled me to the bone, and I only realized the worst was yet to come.

I hadn’t been introduced to Damon yet.

I can feel his blue eyes on me from the opposite side of the gymnasium. At first, I do my best to ignore him, to lose him in the sea of peace signs and strobe lights, to listen to the catchy little songs playing from the stereo located by the double doors. He is one body in a sea of them—it should be easy to pretend he isn’t watching me, but it’s not.

Even surrounded by a mob of go-go boots and beehive hairdos, Damon Salvatore is still the most noticeable person in the room

Go figure.

The older Salvatore has this unappealing habit where he must always be the center of attention. What probably started as a run-of-the-mill episode of sibling rivalry has had hundreds of years to fester. The result is the most severe case of arrogance I’ve ever encountered.

And I’m feeding into it.

Disgusted with myself, I stare into my dance partner’s warm brown eyes. I have more important things to handle.

Like telling my boyfriend we might not get the future he so desperately desires. We will not grow old and die together. There will be no children or pets. No house or white picket fence. And while I won’t be by his side, he still needs to go on. My ending will be his beginning.

And I’m at peace with my decision. I’m a witch, something that would have been my undoing even if I remained blissfully unaware of my abilities. While wielding magical powers _seems_ awesome, it’s anything but. It’s a curse, one I live every single day, and I’m tired.

Of it all.

Elena still has a chance. She can escape all of this. If I end Klaus, she won’t be lauded for her doppelgänger status. She can return to a life one might believe would be boring. She’s still human. Hell, she doesn’t even have to worry about Care; immortality comes with so many perks.

But me? I can’t be _normal._

My life is not a romance novel, it’s a nightmare.

One that keeps getting worse.

I try to soothe Jeremy, the sweet boy who had my back when no one else did, but I’m having very little success. Loyalty is one of Jeremy’s best traits, but it is also his most glaring flaw. He can’t _let go._

So, I lie. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I also know a half-truth will be the least of my boyfriend’s concerns when the night is over.

It’s weird, thinking that having a fifty percent chance of survival seems like the best option. It’s best to not throw out a higher number. I don’t want to get his hopes too high

Eventually, I find myself looking away from Jeremy’s comforting, brown eyes and into Damon’s electric blues. A jolt runs through my body. I attribute it to annoyance. Don’t I deserve at least an hour of peace? Why does he constantly have to storm in on the few pleasant moments the universe allows me, fucking them up beyond repair?

“May I?”

I force myself to nod. My confirmation is almost imperceptible. Well, it is to a human. I can tell because Jeremy tightens his grip on my hand. Damon, however, has very keen senses and positions himself in between me and my date. Looking over Damon’s shoulder, I squeeze Jer’s hand lightly.

 _It’s okay,_ I tell him with my eyes.

And he lets me go, though not without hesitation and a heavy sigh.

“You heard me talking to Jeremy, didn’t you?” I ask. I hope my voice sounds even, as it’s hard to concentrate on much of anything with his hand around my waist.

“Is it true?”

“Yes,” I reply, as he spins me around. The next thing I know, my back is pressed against his torso.

I hate being so close to Damon. It feels way too intimate, invasive, but I maintain my composure. Shying away from the vampire will only make him want to dance longer.

“The part about you having a fifty-fifty chance of survival?” his breath tickles my ear. “Is that true?”

 _Don’t flinch._ “He was upset; I didn’t want him to worry.”

“So, you’d lay it all on the line for Elena? No matter what?”

I know he’s trying to antagonize me. I also know that he already knows the answer. While inside I’m terrified, I don’t let that hinder my decision. I couldn’t live with myself if I let Elena—my best friend, my sister—die. That would be my own personal hell. The regret, grief, and sorrow would be too much. I want to tell him that death will be easy. What do I have to look forward to? My dad’s not around, my mom abandoned me, and Grams is in the ground.

I won’t ever get the happily ever after—so why bother?

“No matter what.”

“Good,” he mumbles, and I detect a hint of…not sadness, but not the joy I had been expecting. And while my impending demise doesn’t make him smile, I can’t help feeling a little hurt by his response.

Well, I guess I can’t be _that_ offended. I’d say the same thing about him if our roles were switched. I can’t pretend that I’d be _too_ broken up if he died.

I narrow my eyes. “You can’t tell her.”

“… it’s a shame. All that power… isn’t there any way to increase your odds?” There’s a glint in his eyes that makes my heart rate increase.

“Careful Damon,” I tease. “I might think you actually care.”

Smug grin. Eye roll. Typical Damon Salvatore reaction. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Another spin. This one leaves me a little confused, agitated, and off-kilter. I’m not sure what to think about the flicker of compassion I see on his face.

It’s gone so quickly that I’m second-guessing its occurrence.

Because, no, Damon would most certainly _not_ want that.

* * *

The march down the halls of Mystic Falls high school is a strange one.

Just days prior, I had been going from classroom to classroom like every other student. I was masquerading as someone who had every intention of going to prom and signing yearbooks on the last day of the school year. No one knew that my days were numbered, that I was walking around with a death sentence looming over my head—not even my friends, who were all too aware of the threat barreling toward us like a freight train.

Damon is the only one who put the puzzle pieces together.

This is funny in a morbid sort of way because he _definitely_ isn’t a friend. There are many days that I wish I could act we never met, that I never looked into his eyes and wondered if he could be anything other than a monster.

If I could have afforded it, I may have stopped to laugh at the irony of this clusterfuck.

But time is running out. I know this without actually having any concrete proof. Technically, seeing as Klaus is far worse than my temporary partner-in-crime, I would be surprised if he abandoned his current plans in favor of one that might cause more damage.

I can _feel_ his presence, however, and since his exact location. Over time, my premonitions became second nature. I had gotten so used to them that the feeling of foreboding dread no longer shakes me to my core.

They don’t frighten me anymore.

At least, I believed that until now.

A coldness accompanies the knots twisting in my guts. I’m chilled to the bones, so much so that my limbs ache. The end is near, and death is whispering in my ear, welcoming me with open arms.

I feel like I’m going to vomit.

Without making the conscious decision to do so, I head in the direction of the cafeteria. He’s there. Ready and waiting. The amount of excitement thrumming in the air around me is unsettling.

And just like that, I’m in the belly of the beast.

The rational part of me is shouting, urging me to go no further than the entryway. My fight or flight instinct is kicking in and my life plays like a movie, each scene a brief snapshot. I see my mother and father, smiling ear to ear—one of the few memories I have of my mom. Of both of my parents together. Grams, meeting Elena and Caroline, school, Stefan, Damon, and _fire._

Those moments morph into a glimpse of the future I’d never have. Graduation, college, wedding bells, babies, a happily ever after. This saddens me for many reasons. One, because it is a sick joke. Why taunt myself with something I will never experience? And two, the man standing by my side is out of focus. I can’t figure out who it is, but something in the back of my head tells me I don’t want to know.

The thought is rattling. Scary. And I want to break down. Right here, right now. In front of the man that has been haunting me in my nightmares for weeks—plaguing my waking hours with crippling anxiety.

I keep my composure, though, and manage to look him in the eyes. Everything about Alaric is so _wrong_. He looks so different, though nothing about his appearance has changed outwardly. It's all about his aura, that malicious glint in this eyes, the way he sits with his feet propped up so casually. None of it reminds me of my history teacher and it's absolutely terrifying.

So, despite my fear, I force myself to lessen the gap between us. The closer I get, the more I realize that I’m staring into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

But my ultimate goal is to rip this monster’s heart out. So, what does that make me? Putting Klaus in the ground doesn’t really bother me. But Ric? I’m almost glad that I won’t survive. Living with that burden would be awful. I don’t want my actions to eat me from the inside out. _I don’t want to care._

Even the possibility of apathy makes me uneasy.

“What took you so long?” Klaus asks. What a loser. He’s so full of himself that he can’t resist giving an opening monologue to his prey. He’s nothing more than a run-of-the-mill TV villain.

When I don't respond, he twirls the knife he's holding in his hand. "Do you want to do this the easy way... or the hard way?"

We both know the answer already, so I cut to the chase. I lift my hand, readying myself for the onslaught of pure energy. I can feel the power burning in my fingertips. It's _exhilarating_.

Klaus' hand contorts in the most awkward position I have ever seen. He drops the knife and tries not to let his pain show—it doesn't work.

"The hard way... got it."

Another burst of magic. This time it's aimed at his shoulder.

I try not to flinch at the sound of his bones cracking. Normally, this would not bother me, but the fact that I'm essentially hurting Ric does not make me feel good about doing any of this. That, and the sound is so much louder than it should be—the first sign of a power overload.

I grit my teeth, steeling myself for Klaus' next move.

He pushes his shoulder back into place. "You'd... really kill your favorite history teacher?"

"It's what Alaric would want," I answer coldly, "and he'd want you to suffer first."

I'm a little surprised at how defiant I sound. I hadn't been sure I'd be able to speak, let alone challenge him, but staying quiet would give him some sort of twisted respect. And I can't allow that.

The monster raises his chin, that bone-chilling expression intensifying. "Look at you," he says, almost to himself. "Is that all you've got?"

"Let's find out." I wipe the small stream of blood that has begun to trickle down my face on my sleeve.

I ignore the obvious strain all this magic is putting on my body. I ignore the feeble protests the sane part of my mind is making. I decide that it's about time I give in to the madness and all the trauma it brings. I _embrace_ the agony, feed off it as it rushes like poison in my veins. _Revel in_ it.

I hear the faint sound of Damon's voice just outside the door. "Let her do this!"

_Shit!_

I hadn't been expecting Stefan to put two and two together, at least not until after this was over. I didn't realize that Elena would figure everything out. And here they are—ready to ruin the carefully brainstormed plan Damon and I came up with.

Taking a deep breath, I think of Emily, of Lucy, of all my other ancestors. I remember their pain, the burning torment I felt at the broken-down house. I beg them to help me. The power I felt earlier is nothing— _absolutely nothing_ —compared to this. Fire. That's all I know. I hear their screams echoing in my ears, though the sound is so close that it feels like I'm standing next to them, burning at the stake.

Papers begin to litter the cafeteria floor. Posters for the 60’s dance tonight, fundraiser forms, and spirit wear advertisements swirl around me. The lights flicker and I can taste the blood dripping from my nose and into my mouth. Everything becomes more intense as Klaus writhes in pain, groaning as I send bursts of magic at him.

Tables and chairs fall over. Some fly across the room as if they weigh nothing more than a feather. Light bulbs shatter, the broken glass falls upon us, and I can feel the shards pierce my skin. A loud zapping noise—sparks are raining down on our heads. The glass encasing the snacks in the vending machine cracks. More blood, so much that I’m afraid I might drown. I can feel the air pressing down on my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Klaus seems to be feeling the same, which makes me happy—or as happy as I can be when my bones are dissolving underneath my skin.

"Bonnie!"

It takes every ounce of my strength to turn around and look at her through the electric storm. And then it takes the rest of my sanity to send a burst of magic at the doors, which then slam shut and lock.

A warm blanket is wrapped around my body. It feels nice at first, but it quickly turns into a straight jacket. I can't move my arms or legs. Cotton fills my mouth and I want to choke, only to realize that my lips are sewn shut. I want to convulse, cry, shout, anything that will make this go away... but I can't.

I can hear the _thud_ my body makes as it hits the tiled floor. My skull smacks into it at full speed and I see stars. The bile in my stomach churns, causing me to wonder if death by aspirating my own vomit is a real risk or if it is simply a side effect of the spell.

Probably a punishment. If you don’t adhere to the strict moral standards of every witch before you, you _will_ suffer the consequences.

And even though I would do anything to stop the agony, I can only lie here in silence.

The doors open... footsteps... tears.

"Bonnie!" Elena cries, slapping my cheeks, hoping that I regain consciousness. "Hey, Bonnie _. Bonnie!"_

She presses her fingers to the side of my neck. "Stefan, I- I can't f- find a pulse Stefan!" she says hysterically. She's sniffling now, and her tears are rolling down her cheeks and hitting me in the face.

They feel like knives. Worse than the pieces of glass embedded in my arms and legs.

"Stefan," desperation is saturating her tone. "Do something! G- give her blood! _Just do something! Please, Stefan!"_

"It's too late,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sorry."

" _No, no, no, no, n- no."_

A new voice enters the pandemonium. "Stefan, get Elena out of here. I'll deal with the body."

"What do you mean 'deal with it?'" I've never heard my best friend so pissed off before. I would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much to fight the paralysis.

"Sheriff Forbes can't know about—"

" _This is Bonnie!"_

"Get her home. Now." Damon says, and then in a quieter tone, "so I can clean this up." At first, I think he's talking to Stefan, but it becomes clear that he only means for me to hear—since he's the only one who really knows what's going on.

Stefan wraps Elena in his arms and coaxes her from her spot on the floor. "Jeremy... oh God. Jeremy!"

The sound of his name makes me want to cry with relief... Jeremy is fine. Safe. Thank God!

Damon's conflicted eyes meet my dead ones. I'm taken aback by how tortured they look. I can see a thousand emotions swimming in his blue irises. And, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he looks like he's close to tears.

The sorrow is gone in an instant.

It's replaced by a mask of indifference as his fingers caress the side of my face and over my eyelids.

And then comes the darkness.

I hate it. With every second that passes I start to believe that I really am dying, fading into nothing. The pain of being lifted from the floor is the only thing to remind me that I'm alive. It's like I'm a marionette and my only support is Damon, who has lost all his will to be gentle. Because things like truces are only good for anything in the space of a moment... or maybe two, seeing as he was the first person to figure out my little trick.

I didn't even have to say anything.

All my Damon-centric thoughts stop when Jeremy approaches. He starts to say something, but whatever it is he's saying is cut off by a _bang!_

Total isolation.

Sensory deprivation.

The drive to my hideaway feels much longer than it really is. Being cut-off from everything leaves me with nothing else to do then to stew in my own thoughts. Elena and Jeremy—they must be devastated. This was the only way… I wish I could have found some way to tell Elena beforehand, but it hadn’t gone over well.

And here I thought deceiving the Gilberts would be the easiest task to accomplish. Instead, it’s left me feeling… sad. I had been prepared to deal with the loneliness, the listlessness of my secret life, but I didn’t do this all by myself.

I had Damon.

And while I’m never pleased to be within a five-foot radius of the douchebag, I’m glad he was by my side tonight. Maybe he _is_ good for something…


	2. part ii: the mourning day

* * *

**~2~**

* * *

_They showed you a statue and told you to pray  
They built you a temple and locked you away  
But they never told you the price that you pay  
For things that you might have done...  
Only the good die young_

_~Billy Joel, Only the Good Die Young~_

* * *

**The Mourning Day**

* * *

My second death is real.

And in some ways, it had been easier than the fake death I staged for Klaus. In others, it is much harder. I assumed that dying— _really_ dying—would be like turning off a light. And maybe it is, for normal people, but I’m not exactly normal.

I’m a witch.

And a ghost.

Doomed to watch as the world goes on without me. Forced to look on as the house I used to live in becomes an eye-sore, with broken shutters, cobwebs, and dust. I don’t even have the comfort of seeing my father grow old, live a supernatural-free life. No, instead, I only screamed as he was killed, as the light in his eyes dimmed, face going blank. I can’t erase the image of the blood pouring out of his wounds from my mind. I will forever see the way he choked and sputtered, the way his flesh hung from his neck in jagged pieces. How his entire body stiffened. The sense of finality hanging in the air.

That’s what makes me believe death is simpler for those blissfully ignorant to the supernatural, for the people who don’t know about the monsters that roam the Earth. Or humans who aren’t, in any way, magical or fantastic. I haven’t seen my dad once since he passed away.

I try to convince myself that I’m happy to witness Jeremy go off to college and do great things. To see Caroline and Elena get their happily ever after, their forever. Especially Elena, who has finally gotten her epic love story straightened out. I’m elated that Matt will be able to put distance between him and this Godforsaken town.

And I am overjoyed for them, but I can’t ignore the twinge of resentment growing in the pit of my stomach. Part of me is jealous I won’t get an average life, that I won’t expire of old age.

That I won’t ever get peace.

And, while I didn’t _want_ my loved ones to know I kicked the bucket, I’m slightly disappointed that a string of emails was all it took to satisfy their curiosity.

Empty words filled my absence and I began to feel like I wasn’t as important as I thought. But then plans for a goodbye ceremony began to take shape, grief set in, and now sadness takes over me as I realize that I will actually see them mourn my death.

I don’t know what to think about that.

Plenty of people plan their own funerals.

They go over their wills, spend time with their loved ones, and make requests about the ill-fated day. Things like, _“please make sure your Uncle Frank doesn’t get drunk and start a fight with Uncle Jack,”_ or _“make sure they put on that song that’s always playing in the background of those animal shelter commercials.”_

And it’s funny—they won’t even know if anyone has honored their final wishes. Except it doesn’t feel so silly now that I have a front-row seat to my own memorial service.

I _knew_ I would end up dead. I had no qualms about that, I accepted it, foolishly thinking that dead is synonymous with gone. That so-called “knowledge” is the reason why I’m standing in the middle of the woods, admiring the scenery. I have nothing else to do. I can’t touch anything. _Feeling_ isn’t a sense that remains when you die. The sun streaming through the treetops offers me no warmth. I place my hand against a nearby trunk, but it’s not bumpy or rough on my skin. The weight of Jeremy’s feet snap fallen branches, but when I stomp on one, nothing happens.

It’s driving me crazy.

I’m so close to the land of the living, but I’m not quite there. I’m _almost_ and while that word may comfort weary travelers, it is my undoing.

But I have to be accepting of it because I am stuck.

I don’t have a direction to move toward. I’m unable to transcend the barrier between passive spectator and active participant, nor can I f ride off into the proverbial sunset. I’m tethered here, and it frustrates me, which then gives way to guilt. I can see that Jeremy is hurting _for_ me, and that causes me even more anguish.

I catch him looking at old pictures when he thinks I’m not around (I’ve been able to be a fly on the wall on a few occasions). I hear him saying _I love you_ before an errant tear rolls down his cheek.

I end up with my back pressed against the wall of his closet, cursing as I remember that it won’t provide me with any actual support, and curl into a ball. Legs pulled close to my chest, arms wrapped around my torso, and head on my knees. And before I know it, I wind up sobbing uncontrollably.

It’s at this point that Jer usually senses my presence and yanks open the closet door.

I feel bad because this happened only hours ago, as he was dressing in his Sunday best, preparing for my funeral. The first time I hid from him, his reaction hadn’t been negative, though I was referred to as creepy for a few days. Today is totally different—the sorrow is etched in every part of his face. The tight line of his mouth, the glassy eyes, dark circles, and the wrinkles between his furrowed eyebrows.

My heart breaks every time I look at him.

And his facial expression hasn’t faltered once since we’ve ventured into the wilderness.

“I’m sorry, Jer,” I whisper. “I just… sometimes I need a moment to come to terms with this.” I make a sweeping hand gesture as if the natural foliage surrounding us is the issue.

He turns his head and gives me a half-hearted grin. “I know… it’s weird. But at least I still have you, right?”

“Right.”

He reaches toward me, fingers spread apart as if he is making a handprint in cement. He’s looking for comfort, the reassurance of skin-to-skin contact, but there isn’t any to be had. I raise my hand to meet his palm, but there’s nothing.

No sensation, no unity.

It somehow just makes everything worse.

Luckily, we don’t get much time to wallow. I spot them, my friends, hiking toward my grave marker… except my body isn’t underneath the tree stump they decided to honor me with. It’s a spiritual thing. It’s _what I would want,_ to be one with nature.

Care and Elena are the ones I see first, weaving in and out of the maze of trees in short black dresses and heels. Then Matt in his sensible suit, followed by… Damon, who is dressed for the occasion.

I’m not sure what I had been expecting from the group’s resident asshole, but it isn’t the sullen expression I see him wearing now.

The mourners gather around the small clearing, my friends clutching mementos from the many years we spent together. Care places a pom-pom on the tree, sniffling, crying, mouth downturned into a frown. She steps back to where she stood before, next to Elena. Matt approaches and places a whistle beside the red-and-black pom-pom. He is trying to conceal his grief, but it’s beginning to seep through.

Each expression of pain and sadness is just another nail in my coffin (pun intended), Dull, rusty nails that have no other use than to destroy, torture, and infect.

Elena, blubbering, holds her hand above the tree stump and releases a fistful of white feathers. The remainder of my magic being a thing of wonderment brings me the worst pain yet.

I used to feel so _powerful,_ so _free,_ as the magic thrummed through my body, as I bent objects to my will. When all I really used it for was parlor tricks.

Now I don’t have any of it and I feel useless. Empty. And that just makes this whole apparition deal more depressing than it would be otherwise. I’m not me. I’ve been deprived of everything, _everyone,_ I love.

It fucking sucks.

Damon brings my book of spells over, placing it gently next to everything else. A jolt runs through my body as I’m brought back to the night of the sixties dance, the depth of the blue-eyed vampire’s turmoil as he closed my own lifeless eyes, and it’s like I’m _there._ I can’t help but think I’m not understanding something. I’m missing a crucial piece of a puzzle, but I don’t have time to figure it out—everything is fading away. I feel disoriented as I return to the here and now.

Care and Elena are weeping, embracing as their bodies tremble, wracked with sobs. _I can’t do this. I don’t want to see this. Can’t I catch one break?_ All I’ve ever wanted to do was protect those I care about, to keep them safe and happy, but everything I sacrificed to make that a reality is circling the drain.

I’m helpless. I have nowhere to run. No place to hide. What can I do to make this better? Don’t they know I did all these things to ease their suffering? They are _not_ supposed to mourn my death; They’re supposed to go on and enjoy the lives they have.

But they won’t stop, can’t see the silver lining, so I resign myself to allowing them to grieve, to let them shed the pain my death has piled upon their shoulders.

There isn’t really another option.

Jeremy seems torn as he looks at his older sister, almost like he feels bad that I don’t get to see them being jovial, recognizing that their joy is my only wish.

Poor Jer, he’s been through the emotional wringer. Maybe I can change the vibe a bit. “It’s okay—they need this.” My voice is gentle. “ _I_ need this.”

He nods, reaching over to grab the bell he brought for the service.

“We ring this bell,” he begins somberly. “In honor of Bonnie. In remembrance for her,” _ding, ding._ “I’m not sure what else to say…”

It’s then that I know what I need to do. I can’t receive reassurance—hell, I can’t even _give_ it directly, but Jeremy _can._

“Say I’m not going anywhere. Say that even though they couldn’t see me, that I’ve been there the whole time.

“She says that she’s not going anywhere… that she’s been here all along. Bonnie wanted you to have the summer of your life…”

I can feel the relief settling over everyone like I threw a stone into a puddle and little ripples are fanning around the center, gradually fading away. I walk around to each person in the circle, giving them each a moment to remind them that it’s _okay._ That this is a hard time, but it too shall pass. I approach Elena first. As I stand beside her, I hope she realizes just how close we actually are. “And I saw you _happy,”_ I feel my own joy growing as the words leave my mouth in Jer’s voice. “And I know you think you can’t have a normal life, that you have to be here for everyone, but you don’t. Everyone will find their way. So, you are going to re-pack your things and you’re going to go back to college, and you are going to live it up.”

She lets out a shaky breath.

And Matt… he is crying now, too, bombarded by his own self-torment, which is silly. He’s _Matt._ The guy who will always stand by you, who will always give you a shoulder to cry on. A person who is just _good._

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Matt,” I say lightly. “You know I would’ve sent you three hundred emails back if I could.” How could I lump him in with the group that assumed everything was a-okay on my end? Matt _just knew_ that something was off even before he was actually informed. “I miss you.”

“Caroline,” I start my piece knowing that there aren’t enough words to describe how much she is loved, what her friendship means to me. “You decorated that dorm room like your life depended on it.” She laughs through her tears, right along with me. “And I know college wasn’t what you expected—and I know you feel like something’s missing…”

“Tyler,” the dark-haired werewolf appears as if my words conjured him up. Caroline turns, a look of joy spreading across her features, and runs into his arms.

She hangs onto his arm as he brings his offering to my grave—a single, white rose.

Both couples embrace and I’m overcome with bittersweet contentment. This is what I envisioned every time I was faced with a life-threatening (or ending) situation, their love is what gave me the strength to go through with it.

“This is good; this is what I wanted. I’ll be okay.” I tell Jeremy, who responds by reaching for my hand again, this time I take it without hesitation.

I try to take comfort in the delusion of going through the motions will ease the lingering doubt bubbling in my gut. Sure, _I_ won’t be able to heal with time, but _they_ will. That’s a big enough reward. Not every heroine saves the day, gets the guy, and recovers from the damage.

But then… some endings are better that way, even if they don’t totally feel like it. I close my eyes, inhale, and hold the breath I don’t need to expel. When my eyelids flutter, I catch flashes of blue, slightly blurred through tears I didn’t realize I was crying.

I wipe my face with the sleeve of my jacket, immediately wishing that I let them continue. My vision is better when it’s obscured because I don’t have to acknowledge what’s happening, even though no one else is aware of the subtle shift in the air. Damon is staring right _at me._ Like he can actually pinpoint my exact location.

It elicits an unexpected response from me, which is a little scary since my body isn’t really a body at all. A chill runs down my spine and my gaze doesn’t waver from Damon’s. I cannot turn away, I _want_ to, but I’m paralyzed.

_Damon knows._

I don’t know what he knows, not really, but I can make a guess. He instinctively understands what it feels like to play second fiddle, to never get any gratification, no matter how hard you try.

Even now, he doesn’t seem satisfied. He has the girl—the girl he’s been pining over for years—and still, that spark in his eyes isn’t there. The fire that burns within him when he’s angry or determined.

Almost like happily ever after isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.


	3. part iii: pray for the dead

* * *

**~3~**

* * *

_No, it’s not fair, but what makes earth feel like Hell is our expectation that it should feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. It won’t help the situation for you to get all upset._

_~Chuck Palahniuk, Damned~_

* * *

**Pray for the Dead**

* * *

The next time I die, I hope it’s my last.

I don’t want to be the Anchor.

It’s just a bleak, anguishing reminder of all the ways a being can die—human or supernatural. Having your throat slit, your heart ripped out, your limbs torn off. Poisoning, drowning, stabbing, decapitating… I’ve been through it all.

And every time it happens, I think it will be the end. I can’t fathom how my body can withstand all of the trauma. And then the agony stops, and I’m left to collect myself while everyone looks on. Their faces tell me that my episodic tortures _scare_ them, that they don’t think I will stand up again.

When I do, blood spilling from my mouth and nose, my friends don’t know what to do. Which I get—it’s not like there is an etiquette book for being an Anchor.

So, I’m always relieved when someone acts as if nothing happened in the first place.

That’s not going to happen this time, though.

When I grab Elena’s shoulders, it’s not the pain of scorching fire I feel, but the anguish and anger that rips through my best friend when she realizes that I’m not going to let her stay here until the other half of her heart appears. She’ll have to do so on the side of the living.

Her screams of protest ring in my ears and at some point, they blend with those coming from Stefan, which leaves me wondering who is more terrified of Damon not making it back in time.

My hands grab at the metal fence for support. The wind picks up, getting louder, whipping everything that isn’t bolted or rooted down at me with break-neck speed. The warm, metallic taste I’ve gotten so used to spills out of my mouth. I gag until my stomach is empty, cramping from forcing what feels like an ocean of blood up to my esophagus.

When I’m sure nothing else will come up, I turn, still clutching the pointed arrow on the top of the post. It’s digging into my skin and compared to everything else I’ve been through the last few hours (days, months, years) it’s a lot like resting my palm on a blanket.

I’m hoping to see Damon when I shift my body to the side, but I don’t. Lexi’s peering at me, though, blonde hair flowing in the wind. “Lexi—come on! It’s your turn!”

But I should have known better than to underestimate that keen glint in her eyes. She is aware of what is going to happen… she sees what everyone else refused to acknowledge.

“Bonnie, this is killing you, isn’t it?” I feebly reach out to her, fingers straining to make contact with the sleeve of her coat, but my arm just isn’t long enough.

“I can hold on!” I insist. “We have to finish this!”

“Not just yet,” Markos announces, and the air of triumph in his voice is disgusting.

Lexi dives toward him, kicking him swiftly. It knocks him onto the ground, and I can hardly keep track of who’s hitting who. It shouldn’t matter, though. If Lexi would just let go if she would just back away from Markos for one moment…

But then Markos gets the upper hand. It’s going to be all over for her in a second. I’m screaming on the inside, silently _begging_ for something— _anything—_ that might make the situation better.

And then, I feel the tides changing… Markos pauses, body going rigid as the supernatural gust smacks into him, making him the least of my worries once again.

I hold my breath as Lexi stands up and regards me curiously.

“Every person that passes through you is bringing you one step closer to death… what kind of best friend would I be if you died before Stefan got his brother back…” she turns away, an expression of steely resolve on her face.

I feel the hope draining out of me, I falter, lowering my arm slightly.

She throws her arms up, chin pointing toward the darkened sky. “You’re not going to get me!”

And then… she’s gone… and it’s almost as if she were never there, to begin with.

Worry begins to pool in my belly. I search for Damon frantically, eyes darting from left to right, _willing_ him to appear. It’s times like this when I feel the most useless. Instinctively, without fail, I try to summon the magic I can no longer access. And… I come up with nothing. If I still had my powers, I would know the exact location of that asshole.

It figures the _one_ time I need to rely on Damon’s ability to follow through, he’s nowhere to be…

“Bonnie!”

I turn my head in the direction of his voice. And when my eyes land on him, I can’t put into words what I feel. It vaguely reminds me of a thunderstorm on a hot summer day—the reprieve you don’t realize you need until the sky opens up and rain violently pours down on you.

“Bonnie!”

“Thank God,” I murmur, as Damon closes the gap between us, Alaric following close behind.

I grab Alaric first. I don’t really know why, but as soon as I touch him I know I’ve made some kind of mistake. A cold dread creeps up the back of my neck as the pain of Alaric’s resurrection smacks into me.

My vision goes fuzzy for a moment, but when everything rights itself, I’m staring directly into the face of the most annoying vampire I’ve ever met. Except he doesn’t look smug, haughty, or angry… he’s concerned.

A different kind of concern than I witnessed earlier in the day when I was scrambling for a Hail Mary. It’s not the enraged desperation, the demanding violence that I’ve grown accustomed to seeing.

Of course, I know what he’s thinking about.

“Where’s Elena?”

I smile at him as reassuringly as I can manage. “She made it through.” I place my hands on his shoulders. “Come on.”

“Okay.”

A jolt runs through my body, but it’s not the kind of sensation I had been prepared for… there isn’t an onslaught of pain… there’s nothing…

I let go of him and try again. My fingers digging into the leather. That eerie feeling begins to spread from the back of my neck up the back of my skull, leaving me with a bad case of brain-freeze.

I watch as his face falls, the gravity of his current circumstances hitting him, before grinning back at me ruefully. “Well, would you look at that…”

 _No, this cannot be happening. Elena…_ her devastated face flashes in front of me. For a second, all I know is her sorrow, the sound of her voice begging me to let her wait for her boyfriend.

My consciousness is flickering between the Other Side and what is now my former world. Right now, I am in the crypt, where Liv is supposed to be doing the spell. But I don’t hear chanting, can’t see any signs that magic is being wielded.

The brain-freeze is starting to feel more like a migraine now.

“Oh my God…” Elena says. “Liv…”

Now I’m afraid my head might explode. I watch as Elena looks around, gaze finally settling on me.

“We have to find them,” if I thought she had been desperate before, I was wrong. _This_ is desperation. Her body trembles as she begins to put the puzzle pieces together. Her entire _being_ starts to unravel.

 _Here comes the hard part…_ “We can’t. that was our one shot.”

“Yeah, but Damon is on the Other Side… we have to—”

 _“Elena!”_ I’m starting to crumble. Everything I did to make sure my best friend could have the life she dreamed of vanishes in the space of a second.

I’m going to die, and I can’t even make sure she’ll be able to make it through all of this.

“No!”

“It’s too late,” I say sadly.

_“No, no, no, no…”_

I sense his presence behind me. I’m not sure how I’m able to register it as quickly as I do, but I don’t linger on the thought, even though Grams’ words from earlier dance on the edge of my consciousness.

“He’s here,” I inform her. “You can say goodbye.”

As Damon approaches his inconsolable girlfriend, something stirs in me. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is or why it’s happening. I watch Elena carefully, study her as her warm brown eyes go wide as she collapses into Damon’s arms.

_Jeremy!_

_Maybe it’s because I want to give him the closure he will need._

I exit the crypt, walking to the edge of the cemetery, punching in Jeremy’s phone number as fast as I can.

When he picks up, I feel both happy and confused. That odd pit in my stomach hasn’t gone away. So, I do the only thing I can. I bite the bullet, face the music.

Now is the time to come clean. “I lied. There was never a way for me to stop being the Anchor.” At least, not one that would leave me alive. “When the Other Side goes, I go with it.”

“You told me you’d come back,” he protests weakly.

“If I told you the truth, it would have changed our last days together and I didn’t want it to change. We were happy.” He was happy that he got to spend a few days not having to stress over the potential of me not returning from what is basically a suicide mission (it is—but he’d argue the opposite until my last breath). And I was happy. Not the kind of happy I’d been expecting to feel, which was the kind Elena used to get when she was around Stefan, the type I still see a glimmer of when I catch her glancing at him from the corner of her eye. The kind of happiness she proclaims she found with Damon.

Passionate and deep. The comfort that comes with being with your other half.

And, while it wasn’t exactly what I hoped, I’m still glad I was able to have the time I did. The precious gift of playing the part of someone who hasn’t been dead for the majority of the year.

“Bonnie—don’t move. Okay? I’m coming- t-to you!”

“I died Jer—the day before graduation.” I choke out as hot tears begin flowing down my cheeks. This is too bittersweet to stand. “And that was a gift I choose to be thankful for. I’m glad I didn’t waste a second of it. Take care of Elena. For me.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me!” he shouts.

“I love you,” I whisper because that’s what he needs right now.

_Click._

For a minute or so, it is quiet, but then there is rustling coming from the wooded area nearby. The sound of my name, muffled, but persistent as Jeremy’s form appears amongst the trees.

And there it is—the moment I’ve been anticipating since Mystic Falls—the place I called my home—turned into a magical purgatory. A haven that witches, vampires, werewolves, and hybrids could not enter. The world around me fades away… and then there’s that feeling again. It gets stronger and stronger as Damon and I get closer to each other.

“This place is going down, isn’t it?” Damon’s tone is even.

“It is,” I respond resolutely and then I notice the obvious.

I’m not by myself.

The thought is such a relief that I feel guilty for thinking it. For being so comforted by Damon being next to me.

I _should_ be the only causality.

For half a second, I wish that I am, but that particular thought is gone within an instant. Whatever I face, I’ll face it with Damon. Never before has that prospect been such a joyful notion, but it _is._ If my calculations are correct, if I’m right, it will only be for a minute. And then… it will be done. Finished. But… for a short while, I won’t be the only one to feel this way… whatever this way is…

Strangely, a blanket of calmness envelops me, and my body relaxes. The tension in my shoulders goes away, my breathing slows, and my heart isn’t straining to break through my ribcage.

I glance over at Damon, who isn’t experiencing the same effects as I am. He can’t sweat and his heart doesn’t beat, but he _can_ emote.

I can practically _smell_ the fear emanating from his body, feel the nervous energy weighing the air down, so it pushes against our shoulders, and I wonder if this is what happens to scuba divers when they venture too deep under the sea. Do they suffer like this? Do their bodies want to fold in on themselves until there is nothing left? Does death swallow their surroundings, sucking away all of the oxygen left in their tanks?

Light forces its way past the clouds.

It’s almost over…

We both look at one another… and I have a revelation… That horrible sensation that’s plagued me since we knew Damon wasn’t going to cross over isn’t bad or wrong. _It’s right._

 _This is how it is supposed to be—_ I’m finally not alone when the house of cards I’ve constructed crumples into a huge mess.

Damon’s by my side and I don’t have to be frightened by all the unknowns. Maybe this is what Grams was talking about.

“I know there’s probably a million people we’d rather be with right now, but…” My fingers intertwine with his and that jolt that comes with it isn’t something that makes me recoil anymore. It makes me feel _good._

At peace.

“A couple thousand, at least,” he jokes, squeezing my hand.

“Do you think it’ll hurt?” More light overtakes the space around us, the pressure increasing exponentially.

_Maybe peace only lasts for a moment… maybe it makes you feel so warm, and calm, and weightless that it makes all the torment of life worth it. Maybe this feeling is why my Grams was so adamant that she stays on the Other Side. People spend their entire lives hoping to feel like this… all those years and heartbreaks for a single second of bliss… and if anguish comes after it, I’ll hang on to this second in the afterlife_

I find myself saying something, the words falling from my lips without hesitation.

“Do you think it’ll hurt?” I don’t know why I’m asking this, because I just resigned myself to whatever comes, but I need to know if he’s feeling this, too. It’s the one thing that will complete the cycle.

Damon looks startled as if the idea never occurred to him.

“I don’t kn—”


End file.
